<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Disquieting Resemblance by StarsInMyDamnEyes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23312827">A Disquieting Resemblance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsInMyDamnEyes/pseuds/StarsInMyDamnEyes'>StarsInMyDamnEyes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon cannot introspect for the life of him, Arthur-centric, Author Has No Idea Where This Is Going Except For Vaguely Forwards In Time, Author Regrets Some Things, BAMF Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Crack Treated Seriously, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Gen Fic, Gratuitous Inaccuracies, I mean, Immortal Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Knights - Freeform, Magical Fuckery, Mentions of Gaius - Freeform, Petty Arthur Pendragon, Post-Battle of Camlann, Shenanigans, a bit OOC, author cannot tag, because I can’t be fucked to go back and rewatch the finale, i swear by my creed of no romo, if you found out you could regenerate your body parts, in a post-finale kind of way, in some sense of the word - Freeform, it was long ago and i don’t want to be sad so, magic Arthur, mentions of self-mutilation out of curiosity, merlin is a bit dense, more chapters in the works :D, no beta we die like arthur fucking pendragon, resurrection under suspicious circumstances, the author is a rookie, this was supposed to be a oneshot but i got carried away, unspecified acts of sorcery, vaguely</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:54:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23312827</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsInMyDamnEyes/pseuds/StarsInMyDamnEyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur had not died on the shores of the Lake of Avalon that day, as Merlin held him gently, terrified of letting him go. He could vaguely remember the emotions carved onto Merlin’s face, grief and desperation, as the dragon had loomed above them, and could just about remember asking Merlin to hold him as he slipped away.</p><p>He could distinctly remember surviving.</p><p>Or: Arthur Pendragon looked his destiny in the eye and told it, in no uncertain terms, that it could go to hell.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin &amp; Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started out as a crack-y oneshot for my most esteemed friend who is called Savon on this website and accidentally got a bit too long for my liking, enjoy :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur had not died on the shores of the Lake of Avalon that day, as Merlin held him gently, terrified of letting him go. He could vaguely remember the emotions carved onto Merlin’s face, grief and desperation, as the dragon had loomed above them, and could just about remember asking Merlin to hold him as he slipped away.</p><p>He could distinctly remember surviving. Arthur’s memories of waking up, drenched in magic lake water, with a suspicious lack of life-threatening wounds, were far more vivid in his mind than the part where he received them in the first place. The dried blood caked into his armour where Mordred had stabbed him were a much clearer reminder of the events of Camlann than the hazy fog of his mind; Arthur suspected that he was blocking things out.</p><p>Good.</p><p>He didn’t much want to remember Camlann, anyways. It was a depressing mess, and it would do him no good to constantly dwell on it, as he suspected his mind was wont to. It was, after all, the immediate precursor to the situation that he currently found himself in, and thus a rather relevant event.</p><p>And Arthur didn’t particularly want to make his current predicament even worse.</p><p>The phrasing of it had been so innocuous. The Once and Future King shall rest beneath the great mountain, to awaken at Albion’s darkest hour when he is needed to most. He could still hear the light, lilting voice speaking into his ear; a memory of the nowhere time between passing out in Merlin’s arms and waking up in a sealed cavern lit dimly by a torch that burnt too merrily to be anything but magical.</p><p>He’d spent ample time exploring his cage, wandering around the rather small network of caverns that made up his new home and prison. The cavern he had woken up in had in it a simple bed and a cupboard of spare clothes, and though Arthur had changed from his armour to a tunic, he had not felt inclined to sleep. A tunnel, covered with a ruby curtain - Pendragon red - led to another, larger cavern, in which sat the Round Table and various relics. Whether someone had noticed them gone from Camelot or not was not a question, but Arthur wondered what was being done about their absence. Surely they did not expect to believe that someone had managed to steal the Round Table?</p><p>The third cavern was empty, save for a rack of weaponry - Excalibur stashed among various other weapons - and a solitary training dummy. It was by far the largest cavern, with a roof towering high above Arthur, and its walls were rough and jagged enough to climb. At first, Arthur had trained regularly, but as time passed and he did not waste away despite not eating, sleeping, or keeping to any sort of training schedule, he began to suspect that the room was there for entertainment purposes rather than out of any kind of necessity.</p><p>The fourth and last cavern was a study, stacked with books. Some, Arthur recognised from the library in Camelot, where he’d only ventured at the insistence of his childhood tutors, and generally ended up wasting time reading the spines of various tomes rather than doing what he was supposed to more often than not anyways. Others were unfamiliar - collections of children’s stories that Arthur did not recognise, books on magic and alchemy that his father would have ordered to be burnt, and the musings of various philosophers and poets that Arthur had never heard of. Besides the books, there was also a desk and a seemingly endless supply of ink and parchment.</p><p>Clearly, whoever prepared the cavern had not known Arthur very well, if they expected him to become an intellectual out of sheer boredom. One would think that if his life and destiny were so thoroughly accounted for, his interests would at least be taken into account - there was no way Arthur would ever end up bothering himself with studies, or all things, if they had no purpose, and it wasn’t like he was ever going to rule a kingdom again.</p><p>At first, Arthur had been concerned over the lack of food and water in the caverns, terrified that this was to be his tomb; that he had been given false hope that he should live, only to die slowly and agonisingly of dehydration and starvation. He quickly came to realise that this would not be the case.</p><p>As the days passed, and the torches that neither burnt their wicks nor warmed the caverns beyond a comfortable temperature flamed ever onward, Arthur had realised that he had not become hungry, nor thirsty, nor tired. At first he'd thought it to be another part of the cavern’s magic, like the ever-flaming torches, but he began to doubt this after he nicked his hand on a blade as he was replacing a sword in the rack of weaponry he’d been given. He’d withdrawn his hand hastily, just in time to see the cut on his skin scab over and heal rapidly, all before more than a smear of blood had welled up on the wound in the first place.</p><p>Never one for well-thought-out plans, Arthur’s first instinct was to immediately recreate the scenario - this time, cutting a deeper gash, to much the same effect. Then, in a fit of panic and impulsivity, he found himself slicing off his left pinky finger. Much to his stunned horror, it simply knitted itself back together, new bone and muscle and skin growing rapidly from the stump he had created.</p><p>Arthur immediately left the cavern in a haze, and collapsed on the bed, a tumult of emotion. In hindsight, he didn’t really understand why he was so shocked. It had been implicitly stated that he would be waiting in the caverns for an unspecified amount of time to at some point save Albion - dying, or being maimed, didn’t really seem to factor in to this plan.</p><p>Perhaps it really was part of the magic of the caverns. Arthur like that conclusion better. The other conclusion was that he was some kind of immortal, which didn’t really bear thinking about.</p><p>Then again, if the cavern was the important factor in the equation, the prophecy probably would have mentioned it.</p><p>Either was, the discovery (and subsequent small pile of Arthur’s dismembered limbs) only served to turn the former King from frustrated to outright angry. He was trapped in a cave, feeling barely anything but his confused, tumultuous emotions, and he was expected to just accept this as his fate for the next however many centuries? Despite only really having been made aware of the fact that a prophecy even existed in what he believed to be his dying moments?</p><p>If destiny didn’t deign to be fair to him, then he jolly well would not offer the courtesy of being fair to it in return. If he was supposed to isolate himself and live in a small cave under a mountain for centuries, then the very least he deserved was an advance warning.</p><p>Since, however, the universe had made it clear that it would do whatever it damn well pleased, Arthur thought it was only fair that he be allowed to also do what he damn well pleased, consequences be damned. If the destiny that had been written for him, right from the very start, was not important enough to be told to him, then it seemed only just that he should be able to ignore it.</p><p>This was the reasoning that led to Arthur Pendragon, probably looking somewhat less like himself thanks to the beard and shoulder-length hair that time had gifted him with, to start beating the wall of the cavern with whatever weapon he felt like using at any given moment.</p><p>His newfound perpetual energy became quite the advantage, as he poured all his time and effort into breaking through a stone wall of unknown thickness.</p><p>Really, if Destiny or whatever was so serious about keeping him in the cavern, it should really have come up with a failsafe.</p><p>The work itself was monotonous and dull, but not much more so than what Arthur would have experienced in the cavern anyways. He hummed to himself and sang old songs he could somewhat recall, adding new verses for the fun of it. Sometimes, he’d pretend his friends were there with him, and banter with them playfully, coming up with retorts and comebacks for them that were never quite as sharp as those which he attributed to himself.</p><p>It was his lonely fantasy, after all, so he at least got to win the arguments.</p><p>It had taken him quite a while - but not as long as he’d feared - to reach the surface of the rock. If his estimate was correct - which it quite possibly wasn’t - it had been around seven or eight months of tunnelling before his hands, unmarked by the strain of his labour, broke the surface.</p><p>Now, Arthur blinked as his eyes adjusted to sunlight. He had made one final, hasty journey back to the cavern, to pick up his pack of belongings, comprised of an ungainly sack sewn of his bedclothes filled with weaponry and spare garments, before immediately turning tail and rushing out of the cavern, hopefully for good.</p><p>The Round Table could keep the damn hovel. Arthur was done with this destiny crap.</p><p>Hoisting his pack more comfortably atop his shoulder, Arthur began walking in search of a path. Perhaps he could get some directions from some bandits. Now that they couldn’t mortally wound him, he was sure the negotiations would end up swinging in his favour.</p><p>The fresh, cold, forest air and the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot made Arthur’s heart soar, the familiarity almost overwhelming. The twittering of birds in the branches of the trees was a welcome change from the near-silence he’d been living in for the past few months.</p><p>Arthur Pendragon would never again take ambient noise for granted.</p><p>As he ventured further and further from the mountain, he happened upon a road sooner than anticipated - within twenty minutes of walking. The road was well-worn, with cart tracks and horse dung adorning it, altogether seeming like the kind of route that would lead to am important settlement.</p><p>Arthur picked a direction and started walking.</p><p>It took about an hour for him to come across a cart, which he waved down to the side of the road. The cart stopped, a disgruntled-looking merchant and a young boy no older than thirteen summers - likely his son - peering down at Arthur.</p><p>“Good morning,” Arthur greeted amicably. “Would you happen to know the way to Camelot?”</p><p>The merchant raised his eyebrow. “Yer going the wrong way if you’re headed for Camelot, traveller. We’re bound for Camelot, it’s the direction you’re from.”</p><p>Arthur swore under his breath. “Would you mind terribly if I caught a ride from you?”</p><p>“In yer dreams, mate.”</p><p>“I can pay you.”</p><p>“How much?”</p><p>“I’ve no money on me, but I can give you a dagger.”</p><p>“A dagger for a ride to Camelot? It’s two days!”</p><p>Rootling around in his pack, Arthur sized up which of his wares he would deign to part with. Excalibur was out of the question, but he had packed another, less recognisable sword for general use, and a crossbow with some arrows. Given his predicament, however... no need to hunt for food, not particularly at risk from close-quarters combat...</p><p>“I can give you a crossbow,” Arthur offered. “And some arrows.”</p><p>“Throw the dagger in as well and you can hop onboard.”</p><p>Sighing, Arthur handed over his weapons and climbed onboard the cart, which started to move as the merchant urged his horse forwards.</p><p>The familiar rhythm, of horse hooves was a comforting sound, and Arthur felt himself enjoying the ride.</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>The boy had apparently decided he was bored enough to initiate a conversation with Arthur, who cracked an eye open lazily to regard him.</p><p>“Nobody.”</p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>“I don’t have one.”</p><p>“Everyone has a name.”</p><p>“What’s yours, then?”</p><p>It wasn’t the most eloquent Arthur had ever been, but if truth be told, the boy’s questions had caught him a little off-guard. He hadn’t exactly given much thought to the questions the boy was asking, far too fixated on getting out in the first place, and he couldn’t exactly say he was Arthur Pendragon and expect to be taken seriously.</p><p>“I’m Thomas,” he said.</p><p>“What a coincidence. So am I.”</p><p>“No you’re not,” Thomas said, and Arthur frowned.</p><p>“No, I’m not,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t matter to you who I am. I’m riding with you to Camelot, then you’ll never see me again.”</p><p>“So it shouldn’t matter if you tell us, then.”</p><p>Arthur’s brow furrowed, weighing up his options. He didn’t really want Thomas or his father to suspect that he was a wanted man or some other kind of undesirable, and throw him off so soon. On the other hand, he wasn’t very practiced in assuming identities, and he had no idea what to tell the boy.</p><p>He cast his mind around and eventually landed on a nickname, given to him by Sir Kay when they were young.</p><p>“I’m Wart,” he said, inwardly cringing as soon as the words left his mouth.</p><p>Thomas giggled, covering is mouth with his hand. “That’s a weird name.”</p><p>“It’s a nickname. It’s what my friends call me.”</p><p>“You have friends?” Thomas asked, eyebrows shooting up. “But you were travelling alone.”</p><p>“Just because I have friends doesn’t mean I attach myself to them at all times,” Arthur grumbled. “My friends are in Camelot, which is where I’m headed.”</p><p>“How come you were travelling alone, then?”</p><p>“I think you’re asking far more questions than I am,” Arthur interrupted. “How about I ask one?”</p><p>Thomas gave an affirmative nod, and Arthur paused to scratch his beard before continuing.</p><p>“What year is it?”</p><p>Thomas sat up even straighter, and his eyes widened. “Why do you need to know what year it is?”</p><p>Biting back a snippy retort, Arthur instead let out a sigh. “Humour me. I’ve been a bit out of the loop lately.”</p><p>“Yeah, I can tell,” Thomas said slowly. “It’s the second year of the reign of Queen Guinevere, I think. Or almost, anyways.”</p><p>“Camlann was two years ago?” Arthur exclaimed, unable to stop himself, earning himself another strange look from Thomas. “Sorry. I guess I’ve been away longer than I thought.”</p><p>They lapsed into silence after that, Thomas choosing instead to make conversation with his father rather than the strange man who was confused by time.</p><p>They pulled over at the side of the road at dusk to make camp.</p><p>“Do you want me to shoot a rabbit or two?” Arthur volunteered. “I’ve been known to be a good hunter.”</p><p>The merchant eyed him warily, before nodding. “Thomas’ll go with you, then. Take the crossbow.”</p><p>Arthur gave a firm nod of his own, and picked up the crossbow before gesturing to the boy to follow him. Thomas did so warily, and Arthur grimaced.</p><p>“You don’t have to be so wary of me, you know. I’m not a criminal or a fugitive.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>The boy’s tone was unsure, but Arthur shrugged it off. Taking aim with the crossbow, he loosed a bolt into a rabbit.</p><p>“Wow,” Thomas said.</p><p>“I practiced a lot.”</p><p>As Arthur searched for another rabbit, Thomas spoke up.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re not trouble?”</p><p>“As sure as I can be. I’ve not really been around civilisation enough recently to cause problems even if I were of a troublesome disposition.”</p><p>“Why are you so secretive, then?”</p><p>“Personal preference.”</p><p>Thomas made a frustrated noise in his throat, surprising Arthur. Had he really done so much to annoy the boy?</p><p>If Merlin were present, he’d probably make some kind of joke about Arthur’s presence generally eliciting that kind of reaction.</p><p>“I’ll ask you straight,” he said, looking Arthur square in the eye, as stony and intimidating as a boy could be. “Are you a sorcerer?”</p><p>“A sorcerer?” Arthur repeated in amazement. “What gave you that idea?”</p><p>“You were in the middle of the forest but your clothes were clean. You have a pack but you’ve got no water, and you said yourself that you were isolated for two years, and now you’re headed back to Camelot, and you won’t give your name. Seems like a sorcerer to me, and Dad and I don’t want to end up harbouring a sorcerer,” Thomas snapped, accusatory fierceness present in his narrowed eyes.</p><p>“Oh,” Arthur said simply. “I hadn’t thought about that.”</p><p>“You hadn’t?” Thomas’ face morphed from accusatory to amazed. “You hadn’t thought of the one thing everyone in Camelot always thinks about?”</p><p>“I have been known to have the survival instincts of a blind pigeon, on occasion,” Arthur offered, hurting his own pride a little. “I was so focused on getting back to Camelot, I forgot to consider other factors.”</p><p>“I don’t know if that makes you more or less suspicious,” Thomas wondered. “You forgot about sorcery?”</p><p>“In my defence, the persecution of sorcerers hasn’t been the main goal of Camelot since Uther’s reign,” Arthur defended. “Though I’m not sure how it is now. I’m still stuck at King Arthur.”</p><p>Privately, Arthur definitely didn’t think persecution would have intensified. It was hard to think of someone as kind and sweet as Gwen persecuting anyone.</p><p>The conversation again lapsed into silence, though a less hostile one, and Arthur and the boy returned to the camp with three rabbits. As he ate, Arthur considered what he should do.</p><p>He couldn’t simply return to Camelot and waltz into the palace - that was a recipe for disaster. Either he’d be thrown out as a deluded fool, or imprisoned again.</p><p>He definitely couldn’t reveal himself as King Arthur. An immortal king could become whatever he wanted - a tyrant or a despot, even - and the people would be powerless against him.</p><p>But he couldn’t just abandon Camelot altogether. It was still his home, even if he was no longer its king.</p><p>He’d caught his reflection in his sword before - with the longer hair and beard, he was fairly unrecognisable. Add to that the fact that it was common knowledge that King Arthur was dead... as long as he steered clear of those he was intimately familiar with, it was almost certain that he wouldn’t be recognised.</p><p>Still, that defeated the point somewhat. He might as well have not returned to Camelot if he was only going to steer clear of everyone he cared about.</p><p>Besides, there was Merlin. Merlin, so intimately familiar with prophecies and destiny and sorcery... Surely, Arthur could go to him. Provided Merlin still worked in the castle, Arthur could gain employment there, and meet him.</p><p>But what to do? Gaius, as far as Arthur knew, wasn’t in the market for another apprentice, and would likely recognise Arthur the moment he laid eyes on him. A servant wouldn’t be too good a choice, either - he had been too familiar with both the servants of the castle and the nobility he would have to serve, and someone was bound to realise something was up after such extended periods of interaction.</p><p>Perhaps Arthur could find a job as a scholar? Geoffrey of Monmouth could hardly be the only scholar in the castle. Perhaps it was a risk to work under him, as he was intimately familiar with the face and personality of King Arthur, but if he were to adopt the air of a mysterious recluse, left alone with his books and research. As a young prince, he had already been well-educated, and Arthur did indeed have a good understanding of most subjects, and even fluency in Latin - it wouldn’t be difficult to sell the ruse.</p><p>Damn it. Boredom couldn’t do it, but it seemed Camelot - and Merlin - might just make a scholar out of him yet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur Arrives in Camelot and meets an old friend.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur’s worries of being recognised by the old scholar had, in fact, turned out to be unfounded. Be it old age, denial, or just relief that someone else would be doing some kind of work in the library, Geoffrey of Monmouth had pounced on Arthur’s request to... do scholarly things in the castle.</p><p>Now, Arthur was slightly regretting all the time spent chopping off various limbs in horrified fascination. He could have just as easily brushed up on his understanding of Latin texts.</p><p>The nostalgia that hit him as he walked down the castle halls was bittersweet - this was his home, where he’d grown up, and yet he felt like a stranger in it. His room, where he’d lived for so long, was now an area out of bounds to him - instead, he was relegated to a small chamber in the attic of one of the unused towers in the back end of nowhere, as Geoffrey simply didn’t know where else to house him.</p><p>Arthur deigned not to dwell on that. He needed to find Merlin, who was hopefully still in Gaius’ employ.</p><p>He really had not double-checked anything before putting his inane plan into action. Foolish, foolish, foolish!</p><p>Arthur mentally cursed himself as he took the familiar path up to the physician’s chambers, making sure to avoid being seen by any of the guards. It was painfully easy to get back into the habit of slinking around the castle unseen, and Arthur found a feeling of hurt welling up in his chest, which he did his best to ignore.</p><p>He stood outside of the door to Gaius’ chambers and listened.</p><p>“... collect some herbs, Merlin, I’m out of clary sage, hyssop, and dill.”</p><p>“Right away,” came a familiar, light voice, and Arthur’s heart soared.</p><p>Seconds later, the door swung open, and Merlin exited the the physician’s chambers.</p><p>Quiet as a mouse, Arthur followed him.</p><p>The former king had become practiced in stealth over the course of all the hunting trips and other quests he had embarked on, and the years of practice combined with Arthur’s intimate familiarity with the layout of the castle - which, thankfully, had not changed significantly - made tailing Merlin out of the castle a simple endeavour. He did not pass too many people on his way out of the castle, greeting perhaps a servant or two, and Merlin, with Arthur in tow, quickly made it to the woods outside.</p><p>“I know you’re following me,” Merlin said suddenly, not turning around.</p><p>Was that some kind of sorcerer thing? Perhaps. Arthur stepped out from behind a tree, clearing his throat to alert Merlin to his presence.</p><p>“Hello, Merlin,” he said.</p><p>Merlin spun round, shock evident on his features - every bit as awkward as Arthur remembered them.</p><p>“How do you know my name?”</p><p>Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What, you don’t recognise me?”</p><p>Merlin narrowed his eyes. “You do look familiar... What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Here in the woods, or here in Camelot?”</p><p>Merlin considered. “Both seem like pretty good questions.”</p><p>“Right,” Arthur said slowly. “I’m here in the woods to talk to you, and in Camelot because I wanted to come back. I’ve gotten a job as an apprentice of sorts to Geoffrey of Monmouth.”</p><p>Merlin’s eyebrows twitched. “You don’t seem like the scholarly type, you know. I’d expect you to be all brawn and no brain, what with your build and all.”</p><p>“And here I thought I was supposed to be getting fat,” Arthur grinned, though it faded somewhat at Merlin’s look of confusion.</p><p>“You never answered how you knew my name,” Merlin repeated, and Arthur’s stomach dropped. Merlin didn’t recognise him.</p><p>“Think about it. I’m sure you’ll figure it out sooner or later,” he said, affecting false nonchalance.</p><p>“Who are you, then?”</p><p>“I have the utmost faith that you’ll figure it out,” Arthur huffed. “But for now, I suggest you find those herbs before Gaius makes you clean out his leech tank.”</p><p>Merlin’s eyes widened, and Arthur retreated to sit on a log as Merlin began to poke around in the undergrowth for whatever odd ingredients Gaius required. One plant looked very much like another to Arthur, but Merlin seemed to know what he was looking for.</p><p>“You know,” he said finally, standing up with a handful of green, “I thought that smart remark about Gaius meant you were going to leave afterwards. Leave me to ponder about you, you know?”</p><p>“Why would I leave, <em>Mer</em>-lin? I only just got here.”</p><p>Merlin scrunched up his brow. “Are you a fae?”</p><p>This time, it was Arthur’s turn to do a double-take. “A fae?”</p><p>“You show up in the middle of nowhere, give me a few cryptic tests about your identity, and talk like... Like you do,” Merlin explained, eyebrow raised. “You weren’t even being subtle about it.”</p><p>“Right, you’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion entirely,” Arthur said, struggling to conceal his surprise and, somewhat unexpectedly, amusement. “I thought your being a sorcerer would at least mean you were slightly competent in determining what is and isn’t a magical creature.”</p><p>This was, evidently, not the right thing to say, as Merlin’s face, after a glimmer of shock, set in a determined expression - the one he wore with annoying frequency that meant ‘I, Merlin, am right, and I’m going to prove it to you whether you like it or not’. It was an expression that the former king had become painfully and intimately familiar with. Arthur groaned. “Look, I’ll give you some time to mull it over, alright? Surely, I can’t be that unfamiliar.”</p><p>And with that, he turned around and left Merlin standing in the middle of the clearing with an armful of herbs for Gaius.</p><p>Evidently, he’d slightly misjudged the situation and overestimated Merlin’s ability to be completely accepting of the impossible. He huffed in annoyance. So Merlin was fine with decade-spanning prophecies and had identified and battled... Arthur didn’t even know how many magical creatures, all for the sake of Camelot, any yet he couldn’t consider that maybe Arthur was not as dead as at first believed to be. Brilliant.</p><p>Mood slightly soured, Arthur retreated to his quarters and decided to brush up on his cover. He didn’t how what it was about Latin mathematical research that made it so much easier to understand when one with otherwise mad at the world, but Arthur wasn’t about to complain. It made dividing up his time so much more efficient.</p><p>Lost as he was in the mind-numbingly dreary texts, he didn’t even notice the faint footsteps outside his door until the individual outside his room made a noise, bumping against the somewhat loose know of Arthur’s door.</p><p>“Come in, Merlin,” he called, not looking up, and his former manservant slunk in in a manner most would have described as sheepish, but Arthur recognised as cautious.</p><p>“You really are a scholar,” Merlin observed.</p><p>“Why are you <em>surprised</em>? Do you really think it’s so easy to infiltrate the castle that I wouldn’t ever have to justify my occupation?” Arthur grumbled, and immediately regretted his choice of words as Merlin’s eyes widened, and he hastily corrected himself. “By that, I only mean that it would be difficult to take up residence as a scholar in the castle if I weren’t actually able to present any kind of proof for the claim. I’m not actually infiltrating the castle, much as you seem unwilling to accept that.”</p><p>“But if you’re a fae, you’d have had centuries to learn enough to pass as as scholar,” Merlin pointed out, and Arthur closed his eyes, exhaling loudly.</p><p>“Merlin, I’m thirty-three.”</p><p>“I don’t know that,” Merlin replied evenly.</p><p>“You do.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Because we’ve met before,” Arthur said slowly, “multiple times. You witnessed me aging, from when I was barely out of my youth, through to adulthood.”</p><p>Perhaps he was being a bit too cryptic, he realised, but it would hardly do to announce himself as King Arthur to a man who would surely pass the information on to Gaius given the current situation. The whole reason for secrecy was that as few people recognised him as possible, though evidently that was working a little too well. Arthur honestly had no idea why. It wasn’t like a bear and hairstyle change would hold up as a disguise under scrutiny.</p><p>Meanwhile, Merlin’s face was scrunched up in thought, likely trying to remember any repeated encounters with a fae-like man. Evidently, Arthur has given his intellect a tad too much credit after the reveal that his manservant was a sorcerer. Merlin seemed genuinely confused about Arthur’s identity.</p><p>The familiar ‘I’m an idiot and my brain is empty’ expression had overtaken his face, and this time, it was apparently genuine.</p><p>“Any guesses yet?” Arthur asked wryly, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“I’ll get back to you about that,” Merlin replied evenly.</p><p>A strangled noise escaped Arthur’s throat, garnering a perturbed look from the sorcerer. “Right, see if you can let me know tomorrow, then. Provided your brain doesn’t implode from overuse before you can.”</p><p>The look of surprise that momentarily overtook Merlin’s face was quickly replaced by one of mischief. “A feeling you would be familiar with, I assume?”</p><p>Arthur gasped, in mock outrage. “I am a scholar, I’ll have you know!”</p><p>“And yet you almost admitted to infiltrating the castle five minutes ago,” Merlin shot back, his tone deceitfully even.</p><p>“Except you’ll find that I didn’t, because I very specifically did not infiltrate the castle.”</p><p>“Could’ve fooled me.”</p><p>“Not that that’s hard, with all the empty space in your skull.”</p><p>Merlin grinned, and Arthur returned it with a grin of his own. Really, it was just like old times, and it had only been a few hours since their reunion.</p><p>The banter flowed easily, just like how it had done so before their two-year estrangement, and soon it was just like all times, with insults being thrown good-naturedly, and wits being matched, though Arthur privately realised that he’d gotten somewhat rusty. That wouldn’t do. How was he supposed to ever live it down if his manservant had bested him in wit? The horror. Arthur may no longer have been a king, but he still had his pride, and that had been bruised enough since Camlann. To suffer further indignity would be an unimaginable ordeal.</p><p>It was rather late by the time Merlin bade Arthur goodnight and retreated back to his own quarters, and Arthur, tired of small rooms with little to do as he was, decided to take a walk. It would be rather pointless to impose another restriction on himself after he’d worked to hard to escape, after all, and besides, loathe as he was to admit it, Camelot wouldn’t stand forever. Better take it in and relish in it now - what with his frustratingly immortal existence, he suspected the feeling of hiraeth that had lodged itself deep within his gut was only set to intensify.</p><p>Not bothering to tidy the papers strewn all over his bed - it lent credence to his cover as a scholar, after all - Arthur slipped quietly out of his quarters.</p><p>Despite never truly consciously honing the skill for this kind of purpose, Arthur’s stealthiness left little to be desired. Perhaps it was his hunting, perhaps it was all the times he’d gotten into some kind of treasonous muddle, usually with Merlin, over the course of his youth, but the fact remained that the former King was disturbingly good at sneaking around unnoticed - a little too good for anyone, he supposed, to be entirely comfortable with it. Combined with his intimate familiarity of the castle, his mental map of the place disturbingly detailed from all the times he’d run off to sate his curiosity and, he’d admit, avoid his tutors, as a child, even the most practiced guard would have trouble detecting his presence.</p><p>His footfalls were silenced with practiced movement as he slipped through familiar corridors, relishing in his ability to simply be there again. After that fateful moment opposite Mordred at Camlann, he hadn’t thought he’d ever find himself returning home again.</p><p>The stone walls of the castle corridors turned ever more familiar as he wandered towards his old chambers.</p><p>He probably shouldn’t be here - Arthur had no business in the area, and it would be frustratingly difficult to try and justify himself if he got caught, but this was his home, damn it! His aching homesickness, only exacerbated by the minor situation of him being a stranger in his own home, was like a plague on his mood. It surely wouldn’t hurt to try and alleviate it a little.</p><p>As he stood in the corridor, barely able to glimpse into his room from where he stood in the shadows, Arthur realised that the longing ache in his chest had only intensified.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Arthur is a petty, egotistical bastard, and I’m here for it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur woke late the next morning, as he was wont to - the sun was quite a way into the sky, and he inwardly cursed the fact that, despite the months and months of utter boredom and monotony that had plagued him in the goddamn caves, he hadn’t devoted a little of his time into trying to learn to get up independently in the morning, at a reasonable time.</p><p>Then, his sleep-addled brain remembered that he couldn’t very well have done that in a cave that never saw sunlight, and had also not really slept in the cave after figuring out that he didn’t need to, and he shook his head awake.</p><p>He decided not to sleep all that much going on. He didn’t need to, and he certainly didn’t miss feeling like utter shit in the mornings.</p><p>He dragged himself out of his modest bed - far more modest that he was used to, at any rate - and set off in the vague direction of the outside world, taking a small amount of effort not to step on the papers he had so unceremoniously dumped all over the floor.</p><p>This ‘responsibility for the state of his own quarters’ thing was really starting to properly grate on Arthur’s nerves.</p><p>He had barely left his meagre room to venture out into the world, however, before finding himself taking some kind of blunt weapon to the face, still somewhat too sleepy to properly dodge it. The impact was minor - not enough to cause any damage even if he were still fully mortal - and his stomach dropped when he saw exactly who had assaulted him.</p><p>His former manservant stood before him, a pan of some kind in hand, staring down Arthur as he reoriented himself, hand protectively clutching the area of impact on his head.</p><p>“Merlin,” Arthur grunted, trying not to make it too obvious how rapidly the effects of his injury were fading.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>Immediately, a momentary sheepish expression flickered across the man’s face - the kind of face a small child pulls after having been caught doing something they were forbidden from - before it vanished in an instant.</p><p>“Well,” Merlin started to explain. “You see, I-”</p><p>But Arthur had already put two and two together. Between yesterday’s meeting, and the pan-ambush...</p><p>“Iron won’t hurt me, Merlin. I’m not a fae.”</p><p>“Sure you’re not,” Merlin said. “That’s why you’re so mysterious and knowledgeable and magical.”</p><p>“I’m not magical.”</p><p>“You knew I was a sorcerer!” Merlin protested loudly, and dear gods, Arthur had no idea how he had managed to keep that a secret, given that he was loudly yelling the fact out in the middle of Camelot, where - and Arthur had double-checked - magic was somewhat of a major offence, punishable with death. His manservant really was an idiot.</p><p>“I know you’re a sorcerer because you <i>told</i> me,” Arthur gritted out, slightly sore at how much it still irked him that he hadn’t managed to figure that out in all the ten years that he’d known the man. “You can’t tell me you still haven’t figured out who I am.”</p><p>Merlin’s eyebrows knitted together, and he opened his mouth to give some excuse or other.</p><p>Arthur, on the other hand, was suddenly very tired, despite both his apparent immunity to human limitations and the fact that he’d woken up not twenty minutes ago.</p><p>As easy as it would be to simply tell the man that hey, he was Arthur Pendragon, and he just had long hair and a beard now, Arthur wasn’t particularly inclined to. Absolutely, it would end the endless frustration that Merlin seemed intent on causing him, but a small voice in the back of his head reminded him that Merlin had left Arthur floundering in ignorance for upwards of a decade.</p><p>Let it never be said that the Once and Future King was not an incredibly petty man.</p><p>“Did you wait outside my quarters all morning to deck me with cookware, <i>Mer</i>-lin, or did you have any other reason for being here?”</p><p>Merlin’s guilty shuffling spoke volumes. “I was worried about the security of the castle.”</p><p>“Of course you were,” Arthur said mildly, eyebrow raised. How on Earth was Camelot still standing when this was its best line of defence? “Don’t you have anything more productive to be doing, at any rate?”</p><p>“Not particularly,” Merlin grinned. “Gaius doesn’t need so much help that I’m indispensable.”</p><p>“And I suppose I’m the biggest magical threat to Camelot at the moment?”</p><p>Arthur would never get tired of seeing surprise flashing across Merlin’s features.</p><p>“Yes,” Merlin admitted, and it turned out that this conversation was not going as either of them expected it to.</p><p>“You’re wasting your time, you know.”</p><p>The sorcerer gave him an appraising look. “Exactly what someone trying to throw me off their trail would say.”</p><p>“Really.” If Arthur hadn’t been so composed, he would have growled. That was the only response that such a foolish statement deserved, but then, what did he really expect from Merlin? “So, what, you’ve just been standing around, hoping that I turn out to be hatching an evil plot?”</p><p>“If you’re not, you could help me investigate a suspicious knight?”</p><p>“There’s a suspicious knight loitering around and yet you’ve been focusing on <i>me</i>?”</p><p>“Do you blame me? You’re mysterious, you know way too many things you shouldn’t, and you look like-”</p><p>Ah. So he had noticed.</p><p>Well, it was nice to know that his manservant had retained some observational capabilities, even if his ability to actually come to any kind of meaningful conclusion had apparently withered away and died in the two years Arthur had been away.</p><p>“So, who’s the knight?”</p><p>“His name is Sir Eoin,” Merlin said. “He came to join the knights of Camelot, and I’m fairly certain he’s got some kind of ulterior motive for being here.”</p><p>“Oh, really? And why’s that?”</p><p>“You mean besides the fact that he’s got vials full of potions in his room, sneaks around places he shouldn’t be going all the time, and glares daggers into the backs of everyone around him all the time, despite claiming to very much want to be here?”</p><p>“You never know, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for that,” Arthur said, smirk hidden by his beard. He was, at this point, pretty much just unashamedly messing with Merlin, but that was pretty much to be expected.</p><p>“Like what? He’s an alchemy enthusiast with an untamed adventurous streak left over from childhood and an unfortunate face?”</p><p>Arthur was fairly certain his smirk was audible. “Exactly.”</p><p>“Right, of course you’d say that.”</p><p>“You were the one who answered your own question, Merlin.”</p><p>They ended up going to the grounds where the knights trained, with Merlin leading the way as if Arthur didn’t already know how to get there, conversing amicably on the way. At least, conversing as amicably as a former king with a mean streak and his slightly dim-witted best friend who didn’t recognise said king could manage - all in all, about as well as they had done back before Camlann.</p><p>Maybe even more amicably. Had Arthur been, gods forbid, <i>tempered</i> by his post-Camlann experience? He shuddered inwardly at the thought.</p><p>“So, why we’re on the topic, you never did tell me your name,” Merlin said, eyes flicking back to the man trailing behind him.</p><p>“You can call me Wart,” Arthur replied, and inwardly cursed his neglect to actually think up a false name rather than just throwing out his mildly embarrassing childhood nickname. His mildly embarrassing, <i>recognisable</i> childhood nickname. Oops. “But not loudly. Or in public.”</p><p>Merlin’s blue-eyed gaze, however, seemed more amused than anything, and- was that a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips? “And you say you’re not fae.”</p><p>“I’m <i>not</i>. My suggestion that you just <i>figure out</i> who I am still stands. You can call me Wart on the interim. Or Thomas.” Fuck, he should have just said Thomas to begin with. Why couldn’t he have just said Thomas?</p><p>“Alright then, Wart,” Merlin grinned, the accentuating the endearing punchable-ness of his face.</p><p>“Thomas.”</p><p>“We’re here.”</p><p>“I can see that.”</p><p>“That’s Sir Eoin,” Merlin said, pointing towards a stocky man who looked like he had something very sour and something very bitter in his mouth.</p><p>“Would he be the one who looks like he’d dearly like to punch the lights out of everyone in his line of sight?”</p><p>“Yep,” the sorcerer said, pressing his lips together in a thin line.</p><p>Had the man personally insulted Merlin’s honour? He didn’t seem like he’d warrant such an adverse reaction from Arthur’s mild-mannered manservant, of all people. He’d barely had the inclination to scowl at any of the numerous enemies Arthur had known him to have over the years.</p><p>As the two men observed the practice, as casually as a physician’s apprentice and vaguely specified scholar could, the figure of Sir Liam could be made out to be moving around with a general sense of apathy, putting no effort into the practice and even less into caring about the implications.</p><p>Rather out of character for someone who claimed to desire so deeply to be a knight, according to Merlin, but hardly a mark of guilt. Still, Arthur trusted Merlin’s intuition, if only because he had such an impressive history of turning out to <i>always be right</i>. Though it did rankle Arthur a little less knowing that he had so many secret advantages - like magic, and Gaius’ magic knowledge, and the damn dragon.</p><p>“-Actually put some effort into it!”</p><p>Leon’s voice carried over the grounds, making Arthur stiffen. “If you want to be a knight, you have to work at it!”</p><p>“I am working at it,” Eoin said gruffly, and then, with far more conviction, “I <i>will</i> achieve my goals.”</p><p>Right. That was suspicious. So suspicious, in fact, that it was a wonder that the entire kingdom hadn’t picked up on it.</p><p>Arthur and Merlin shared a look.</p><p>“Is he always this obvious?” Arthur queried, eyebrows raised.</p><p>Merlin snorted. “Yeah, pretty much.”</p><p>“And nobody’s said anything?”</p><p>“Not to my knowledge,” Merlin shrugged, and, knowing him, that knowledge was extensive.</p><p>“Why’s that, then? He’s a pretty shit actor.”</p><p>“He is, isn’t he?”</p><p>It was said as a murmur, a clear indication of Merlin drifting off into thought - something Arthur was sceptical of believing Merlin was capable of doing. At any rate, it wouldn’t hurt to jar him a little.</p><p>“He does come off as a complete and utter dollophead,” Arthur mused, and in an instant Merlin’s full attention was on him, a silent <i>how do you know that word</i> on his lips.</p><p>Arthur ignored him.</p><p>“So, you have two questions to answer, then,” he continued.</p><p>“And what might they be, oh most esteemed scholar?” Merlin’s recovery didn’t miss a beat.</p><p>“What is he planning would be the first one, and the second is what kind of sorcery he’s using to excuse his miserable shitshow of an act. Doesn’t take a highly trained and intelligent scholar to figure that one out,” Arthur smirked.</p><p>“Good thing, too, given how we don’t have any on hand.”</p><p>“<i>Ego autem multo callidiores</i>,” Arthur snarked, and Merlin snorted.</p><p>“Why do I get the feeling that that’s not quite correct?”</p><p>“Shut up, Merlin.”</p><p>“So, Eoin,” Merlin deflected. “You think he’s covering his act with sorcery?”</p><p>“Most likely. I’ve never known Leon to be that dim.”</p><p>“You’ve never known Sir Leon at all,” Merlin frowned, and Arthur could barely restrain himself from facepalming. Was this how Merlin had felt every time the topic of magic was brought up around Arthur?</p><p>Impossible. Arthur could never be this annoying.</p><p>“Anyhow,” he found himself saying. “Sir Eoin.”</p><p>“Sir Eoin,” Merlin repeated. “What kind of spell do you think he’s using, then?”</p><p>“How would I know?” Arthur spread his arms in a helpless gesture, to properly communicate his lack of knowledge on the topic of sorcery.</p><p>“Despite your obvious magical-ness?”</p><p>“I’m not magic, Merlin,” Arthur protested, and the statement was slightly less true than it would have been two years ago.</p><p>From the look on his face, Merlin clearly didn’t believe him.</p><p>“What do you think he’s done?”</p><p>Merlin shrugged. “No idea. Some kind of perception spell, maybe? Though I don’t know why we haven’t been affected by it then...”</p><p>“What, no specifics? Talk about a crap sorcerer,” Arthur grinned.</p><p>“I managed more than you did!”</p><p>“You’re a sorcerer. I’m not. The standards are different.”</p><p>“Oh, you utter clotpole.” The word was out of Merlin’s mouth before he could stop it.</p><p>His companion smirked. “So, what do you do in situations like this? Other than run off after the dragon, of course. Pester Gaius, I assume?”</p><p>An indignant noise escaped Merlin. “I do my own research, too!”</p><p>“About, what? Once every few months?”</p><p>“A lot more than you have!”</p><p>“That’s a very low bar,” Arthur smiled sweetly. “I’ve never researched magic in my life, so I’m going to go with you’ve researched something once.”</p><p>“Hey!” Merlin’s indignant expression was something Arthur had sorely missed. Of course, he wasn’t going to concede Merlin’s competence just because his friend had proven himself a skilled sorcerer and the reason Camelot was still standing. His pride had taken enough of a hit in the past two years, and Arthur wasn’t some kind of self-flagellating sob story.</p><p>“So, do you think the potions are related to his attempts to salvage his acting skills or his actual plot? Or both?”</p><p>Merlin blinked, surprised. “Wow. An intelligent question. Colour me shocked.”</p><p>“I’m a <i>scholar</i>,” Arthur grumbled, and Merlin smirked.</p><p>“So you keep saying.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading!! Please drop a comment, I thrive off them, :D</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you give me feedback you will have my unending gratitude!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>